The Spider's Dance
by RydenStewart
Summary: It's 1940 and the world is falling apart, and it's going from bad to worse. Everywhere you turn there are secrets, betrayals and wicked intentions. So if you're suddenly dropped into a magical world teeming with politics, assassins and ruthless schemers, then really the only difference is the talking animals. In a web of lies it's only a spider's dance that will save you. EdmundxOC


**I was kind of wondering - why was 'Phyllis' the first name that Susan came up with as an alias in _Prince Caspian_? So this is kind of my idea of what happened. Not Pevensie-centric, but they do appear in later chapters. This is set more in Archenland than Narnia, to tell the truth. **

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything familiar. At all. **

* * *

**~ One ~ **

* * *

_I hate trains_, Phyllis decided, as yet another hill rolled past, looking exactly like the other eight million. _Or maybe just the countryside – I miss London. _

It was July of 1940, and the war had started when Germany invaded Poland, thus dragging Poland's allies, France and Great Britain into the mess. Eleven months on and the war showed no signs of ceasing. In fact, it was growing messier and bloodier by the day - perhaps even more so than during the Great War of the previous generation.

Phyllis scowled. What a mess the politicians had made – she was sure that if _she_ were in charge, the war might not have happened in the first place. Maybe. At the very least she wouldn't botch the job as much as those boorish _men_ in parliament. But of course, it was not a _woman's place_ to question such things.

At the age of thirteen, Phyllis was considered to be 'on the cusp of womanhood' and as such she was expected to think and behave like a lady. Unfortunately for her mother, Phyllis had a rather 'unhealthy' interest in politics, law, and other areas of academia considered 'improper' for a woman.

"A lady," her mother would say. "Is graceful, beautiful, polite and kind. She keeps the house in order and sees to the raising of children – going out into the world and doing grand things, that's for the men to do." Phyllis disagreed.

And now she was being shipped out to the middle of nowhere, rather than helping out in London by building shelters and assisting the families whose houses had been bombed, she was prevented from doing anything _productive_ and was being sent to stay with her Great-Aunt Harriet. Personally, she had always thought that Aunt Hattie was more than a little batty. A few misplaced marbles if you know what I mean.

Her musings were interrupted as the train screeched to a halt, with much rattling and bumping. Phyllis checked her tag and compared the location to that advertised on the station sign.

This was her stop.

She collected her luggage, straightened her coat, and carefully arranged her hat, mindful of her thin, mousy brown curls.

Satisfied that she looked mildly presentable, she gathered her trunk and bags and stepped out onto the platform, before settling herself comfortably on the station bench. Aunt Hattie was notorious for being late, so she pulled out a copy of _Oliver Twist_ and began to read.

* * *

It was almost two hours later when the car finally pulled up. The young man in the driver's seat stepped out and introduced himself as Henry Williams.

"Are you Phyllis?" He asked, brown eyes sparkling. She figured he had to be seventeen, or thereabouts, and he was tall, handsome and strong.

"Yes." He looked her over, and she suddenly felt very self-conscious. Her knees were knobbly, her socks scrunched down, she was too thin and spindly and her face was almost transparently pale and freckly. Not to mention her wispy, frizzy dust-coloured hair, and bulging blue eyes. Seeing his smirk though, Phyllis schooled her expression into something more confident.

"Well then," Henry stepped forward and picked up her trunk. "Let us be off! Your aunt is cooking roast lamb, and I, personally, would like to be home in time for dinner." Phyllis agreed and clambered into the passenger seat while Henry loaded her trunk into the back of the car.

"Thank you for the ride," she said, when he hopped back into the driver's seat. Henry grinned and winked.

"It's no fuss, really." He turned the key in the ignition and they were off.

"May I ask you a question?"

"You already did," Henry grinned. "You can ask another if you'd like, though."

"Do you work for my aunt?"

"Sort of," Henry glanced at her sidelong, and Phyllis got the feeling that his circumstances were private. "I help out around the house, and my Da has taken over the farm, even though Hattie still owns it. Sometimes she asks favours of me - like picking you up from the station."

"I see," Phyllis sat back, eyeing him. He looked uncomfortable, and she guessed that perhaps there was something shady going on that she mightn't like. Still, he didn't look like he wanted to jump out of the car, so it probably wasn't a _huge_ problem.

A few more minutes passed and Phyllis decided to ask another question. "How old are you then?"

Henry laughed. "Curious about me are you?" She shrugged. "I'm eighteen, I just finished up school in June."

"Aren't you going to join the army?"

"War?" Henry laughed. "They've got soldiers aplenty, dying in hordes - not one of them making a squick of difference in the long run. I'm more needed here, with Da - providing food for the village and such."

Phyllis didn't say anything. She didn't like the way he belittled soldiers for fighting for their country. Her brother was one of those soldiers after all. He was being rather insensitive, and suddenly he became a lot less handsome than he was before.

"Here we are!" Henry chirped, smiling. He climbed out of the car and came around to give Phyllis a hand out.

While he fetched her bags she approached her home for the summer with trepidation. It was a fair-sized house - two stories high, and there was probably an attic. The bricks were red and happy looking, and the door was solid and inviting. Most of the windows had little garden boxes, some with pretty purple flowers and some with what appeared to be herbs, and the surrounding gardens were beautiful. Behind the house, Phyllis could see the farm go on and on, bright fields of wheat, while in another paddock a herd of cows was grazing.

It looked absolutely picturesque, and Phyllis missed London more than ever. Dirty, loud, busy London.

"Coming?" Henry asked, standing in the doorway. Phyllis nodded, and followed him inside.

She found herself in a large living room, with ornate couches and shelves full of books (apparently Great-Great-Grandfather Thomas was an avid reader), while through a door to her right was the dining hall. She ignored Henry, who was walking upstairs to presumably place her luggage in her bedroom, and walked through the dining room until she found the door that led to the kitchen.

It was a lovely kitchen - large and spacious, bathed in warm sunlight and smelling of delicious roast lamb, but Aunt Hattie was nowhere in sight.

Phyllis retraced her steps, and from the front living room travelled through another door that took her to the study. This room was also filled with books, and the desk was covered in papers (Phyllis spotted some tax receipts, and a few accounting ledgers, and she didn't much like the look of what she saw there, but decided not to dwell for now).

Upstairs she found what she assumed to be Aunt Hattie's bedroom, which was rather large and had a huge wardrobe of old clothing. Another room appeared to be Aunt Hattie's studio, and there were many paintings of flower fields, cows, paddocks, and the summer sky. Phyllis found herself aching for rain and bitter winds - anything that was a little bit of _home_.

Down the hall she found her own room - rather plain and uninteresting. There was a bed with brown sheets and coverlets, a plain chest of drawers, and a window. The floor was not carpeted, and the only decorations were a thin vase with a dying daisy in it, and her own trunks, dumped unceremoniously by Henry.

Finally, Phyllis found the stairs to the attic, hidden in the corner of the second landing. The staircase was narrow, and the steps themselves felt brittle and splintered, the further up she got, the darker the passage, until she finally arrived at a small, narrow door. She felt around at the sides for a moment until she grasped the cold brass doorknob. Smiling a little in triumph, she twisted, and with a shove of her shoulder, the stiff door was open.

The attic was dusty and there were cobwebs in the corners. Phyllis pulled a face - she _hated_ spiders. She fumbled for a moment until she found the light switch, and she gave the chain a tug. Only one measly light bulb in the centre of the large attic lit up, and the dim yellow glow didn't stop Phyllis from stumbling over boxes or into old wooden rocking chairs. There were piles of old newspapers littered all over the floor, a couple of dry, wrinkled books about biology, and two rickety wooden chairs - nothing of particular interest.

Phyllis scowled, upset that her exploration yielded no fruit of interest, and turn in a huff back to the attic door.

That was when she spotted the chest. It looked like a proper treasure chest, with the rectangular base, round lid, and intimidating iron bars wrapped around it. Eagerly, Phyllis made her way over to it, tugging on the lid. Much to her displeasure, it was locked. She rummaged around in a couple of boxes, searching for the key, but she gave up after a while.

Sighing, and with one last longing look at the chest, Phyllis turned off the light and made her way back down the stairs.

Glancing out the window, she could see the sun setting. The view was beautiful, with orange light spilling over the rolling hills, and the golden wheat swaying gently in the wind. It was the sort of thing her mother would love to see, and for a moment Phyllis was sad. Sad that her mother wasn't here to see a beautiful sight. Sad that she was in dangerous London, without a hand to hold now that both her children were away - Pa had never been very good at comforting his wife, and Phyllis worried that her mother might get terribly lonely during the war.

She shook her head, annoyed that such distracting, sentimental thoughts were overtaking her. If she weren't careful, she might start worrying anxiously about her brother in the war - whether he was healthy, or hurt, or even alive... Instead, she would unload her trunk in her room - perhaps making it a little less uncomfortable.

* * *

She'd only been unpacking for about ten minutes or so when Henry appeared in her doorway to tell her that dinner was ready. Carefully, Phyllis picked her way through the mess on her bedroom floor - with everything all spread out before she put it away - and followed him down into the dining hall.

Aunt Hattie was waiting, looking just as Phyllis remembered. Her hair was whiter, but her face was still lined with wrinkles and darkened from the sun. She had a frilly, floral apron wrapped around her thin waist, and held in her green-mittened hands, the pot of roast lamb.

"Lisi! My goodness you've grown!" Phyllis smiled at the use of her nickname, though she cringed a little at the overused phrase that followed. Aunt Hattie hardly noticed as she set the roast on the table and walked over to wrap Phyllis in a crushing hug. "I'm so glad you're here! We'll have so much fun together, I just know it!"

"Uh, thank you?" Aunt Hattie wasn't listening though, she was already pushing Phyllis into a chair and heaping food on her plate - peas and carrots and potatoes and lamb, all drowning in an ocean of gravy. Phyllis cursed her bony thinness and the way it seemed to make every motherly figure feel the need to fatten her up. "Everything looks delicious, Aunt Hattie."

"Oh, shucks,"Hattie waved off the compliment and gestured impatiently for Henry to sit down. He shook his head, smirking at Hattie's bustling personality, and took the seat opposite Phyllis. She looked at the fourth place setting next to Henry and wondered who it was for, until Aunt Hattie asked; "Now Henry, dear lad, where is your father, and why is he taking so long?"

Henry laughed. "Da's just finishing up the paperwork, it's nothing to worry about." Phyllis narrowed her eyes at her plate, suddenly finding that pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

"What does your Da do here, exactly?" She asked Henry.

"Mostly manages the business, y'know? Dear Hattie here isn't a spring chicken anymore, so Da goes out into the field, pays the workers, and sells the products on - he and Hattie split the winnings fifty-fifty."

"It's true," Aunt Hattie nodded sagely. "But these past few years, the income's not been as good - I wonder if the economy is doing alright sometimes, you never know what our dear King George is up to, especially with the war on to rattle him up."

Phyllis opened her mouth to comment on the King's politics, when the door to the study swung open and a tall man with dark hair and a bristling moustache walked out. His dark eyes and strong jawline gave him away as Henry's father, and Phyllis eyed him carefully. When he spotted her, he smiled jovially and came towards her with his hand outstretched.

"You must be our summer guest!" He exclaimed. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I'm Roy Williams, Henry's father."

"Phyllis Evans, the pleasure's all mine," she replied, shaking his hand.

"Ho ho!" Mr. Williams raised his eyebrows. "I see _someone's_ been raised proper. How old are you, young lady?"

"Thirteen Last May, Mr. Williams."

"I thought she was ten," Henry chuckled. Phyllis pursed her lips, but she was determined not to sulk.

"Well," Aunt Hattie beamed at all of them. "Now that we're all here, why don't we have our supper?"

"An excellent idea," said Mr. Williams. He took his seat and the three of them dug in, while Phyllis was left feeling a little perplexed.

"Aren't we going to say Grace?"

Aunt Hattie paused for a moment, with a mouth full of potato and a guilty expression. Swallowing loudly she admitted; "That _may_ be a good idea."

Awkwardly, Henry and Mr. Williams put down their cutlery, and Phyllis murmured a quick prayer, thanking the Lord for their food, and asking a blessing on the farm and on all those beloved soldiers in the war. They went back to their dinners together, only slightly less enthusiastic than before.

"Mr. Williams," Phyllis began, after the silence became too much for her. "What are the prices for wheat, these days?"

"Hmm?" Mr. Williams glanced up at her, looking rather flummoxed. "The price of wheat?"

"Oh, I was just wondering," Phyllis shrugged. "My Pa's a baker, but I've never really considered what it costs him to buy the wheat."

"I see," Mr. Williams nodded. "Let me think. It's about four quid per bushel - that's two quid for your Aunt, and two quid for me every bushel."

Aunt Hattie shook her head. "It's sad, really - I have to pay the farmers out of my own pocket after your Uncle Ken died, but lately the pockets haven't been as deep as they've needed to be."

"I see," Phyllis adopted a regretful expression. "That's rather sad."

"It is rather," Mr. Williams hummed, but he was already concentrating on his dinner again.

_Suspicious_, Phyllis thought. _Pa says that wheat's at least seven quid per bushel - direct from the farmers at least. Poor Aunt Hattie's being swindled outright, she is. _

She sighed, and stood up. There was nothing she could do about it. She was just a kid, and she was sure that Mr. Williams and Henry would deny any accusations.

"What's the matter love?" Aunt Hattie asked.

"I'm just not hungry," Phyllis admitted. "It was a long train ride, and I'm a little tired."

"Alright," Aunt Hattie smiled. "I'll take care of your plate - you get a bit of sleep."

* * *

**A/N: I can't believe I haven't gotten _any_ mention of Narnia in yet! I was planning to, but I ended up writing too much of the setting up... I promise that there will be Narnia in the next chapter - including travel to Narnia. **

**Even if you hate it so far, please tell me what you think. The review box is right there. **


End file.
